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Howdy, friendly reading person!I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now, but only to work on other projects -- one incredibly exciting example being the newly-released kids' science book series Things That Make You Go Yuck!If you're a science and/or silliness fan, give it a gander! See you soon!

So, as I threatened, I called one of those psychic hotlines yesterday.

To be honest, it was completely accidental; I was really looking for, um, something else. But, since I had her on the line, I let her give me a ‘reading’. And the results were rather shocking, frankly. But don’t take my word for it — read the transcript for yourself.

Her: Hello! Thank you for calling the hotline! How may I help you today?

Me: Um… hi. Is this the phone number for ‘Mistress Exotica’?

Her: Yes, that’s right. I’m Mistress Exotica. What can I do for you?

Me: Well… uh, I don’t normally call this sort of number.

Her: Don’t be frightened, child. Ask your questions, and I will answer —

Me: Are you naked?

Her: What?

Me: Um, I mean… what are you wearing, oh Mistress Exotica?

Her: Oh. Well, I have on, um… I don’t know — let’s say a magestic, flowing robe, and a jeweled gypsy turban. But I don’t see what —

Me: How about your nipples? Tell me about your nipples!

Her: Bu — what?! What the hell does that have to do with anything? I’m here to tell your fortune, dammit!

Me: Fortune? Wait a minute… I thought you said this was ‘Mistress Exotica’?

Her: Okay, I’m looking into the crystal ball… I see that you’re a sick, twisted man. Nobody likes you much, and you have no sense of fashion. I see you being dropped on your head as a young child. Repeatedly.

Me: Sheesh. Finally. There goes that Valentine’s Day gift I was gonna buy for my wife.

Her: You’re married?

Me: Well, yeah.

Her: Really? This isn’t some kind of gullibility test of your own?

Me: No! I’ve been married for years.

Her: Years? To a woman?

Me: Of course to a woman!

Her: A live woman?

Me: Well, duh. A corpse in the closet wouldn’t do me much good, now, would it?

Her: According to these cards… that’s debatable. I didn’t even know there was a Necrophiliac card in the deck. Weird. But let’s move on.

Me: I think that would be best.

Her: So, let’s look at your financial future. The cards show that you’re involved in some sort of new venture.

Me: Okay… go on…

Her: It seems to be laughably unlucrative, leading you towards a life of miserable poverty… an undertaking that gets you little respect, no money, and yet takes up enormous amounts of time…

Me: Oh, for the love of —

Her: Wait! I can almost see it… it’s… museum curator? No, too respectable. Struggling cartoonist? Nope, you might actually get paid for that one day… it’s…

Me: Freelance humor writer and standup comedian?

Her: Bingo! Wow. You are a tool, aren’t you, dear? Anyway, let’s move on to your love life.

Me: That’s better.

Her: And you say you’re really married?

Me: Yes, dammit! What do the cards say?

Her: Well… according to this reading, you should be living alone and bitter in some sort of dilapidated crapshack right now. And, well, forever, actually. The cards are really quite clear on that point. Crapshack city, no question.

Me: I see. And these cards are usually right, then, are they?

Her: Yes, almost always. Of course, they tell me about your destiny; a person’s actual situation can be altered by unforseeable events… a horrible trauma, or tragic accident, or —

Me: Scandalously incriminating photographs of the woman I got to marry me?

Her: Right… okay, well, the only thing left is to look at your faraway future. Let’s see… it says here you’ll live a long, long life…

Me: That sounds good.

Her: …most of it as a chin-drooling, pants-pooping Alzheimers patient. Looks like you’re due to lose your mind around… wait, how old are you?

Me: I’m thirty-three.

Her: Oh. Ouch. Written that will yet?

Me: No, as a matter of fact, I haven’t.

Her: I’d, um… I’d get on that, if I were you. There’s not a lot of ‘quality time’ left, I’m afraid.

Me: Check. Soon to be drooling. Okay, what else?

Her: Well, it looks like your wife’s going to win the lottery.

Me: Hey, that’s fantastic!

Her: Or… dump your addled ass and marry a movie star. The details are fuzzy… but something good is gonna happen for her.

Me: Oh. I see. Well, that’s… something, I suppose.

Her: And another thing — you know how you’ve been peeing on the carpet and blaming the dog?

Me: What?! I don’t… I wouldn’t… um, yeah, okay. What about it?

Her: When you lose it completely, the dog’s gonna do the same to you. Get ready to have your nose rubbed in some really unpleasant places.

Me: That little bitch. Well, that’s it — I’m glad I had her spayed. Ungrateful mutt.

Her: Oh, and you’re going to develop unhealthy addictions to… lessee, panty snorting, sandwich spreads as sexual stimulants, and extra-hoppy beer. Looks like it’ll happen around age… nineteen or so. How old did you say you were again?

Her: Okay, well. That’s about all I can tell you, I’m afraid. I hope you’ve learned something from your time with Miss Exotica.

Me: Well, yeah. I’ve learned that I’m apparently willing to pay thirty-eight fifty to have some old turbaned bitch ridicule me over the phone. I’m really not sure that’s a lesson I needed to learn, frankly.

Her: Yes, fate works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it? Well, it looks like your credit card has maxed out, and my turban is off — and hey, my wig along with it, dammit — so Mistress Exotica is off to help someone else. Call back soon, and I’ll tell you how you really got that rash you’ve been wondering about.

*click*

Spooky, eh, folks? It’s like she really knows me or something. I mean, I didn’t believe in that crap before I called, but that was amazing. I’m simply gonna have to call back, to find out more about my future, and that backstabbing dog of mine, and… well, you know, that rash. I’m sure it’s poison ivy… I just can’t for the life of me figure out how poison ivy got all the way down there. And in that. And all up in my other thing. Weird.

Anyway, that was my experience with Mistress Exotica, and I hope you enjoyed it. I guess now I’d better go make out that will, before it’s too late. My wife’s gonna be awfully miffed when she sees that she’s not in it, but once I explain it to her — she’s either gonna win the PowerBall or marry some bigshot Hollywood bastard — I’m sure she’ll understand.

And if not, I’ll have her call Mistress Exotica herself, and she can hear all about the pictures I’ve got of her, and how she’ll been cleaning up after me, and who’s really been piddling on the carpet. Yeah, on second thought, I think I’ll just put her in the will. I’ve only got a little bit of lucid time left; no need to have her pissed at me during the twilight of my sanity. According to my new psychic friend, I’ve apparently got enough problems as it is.